


Past Grief

by elceri



Category: Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)
Genre: M/M, Movieverse Only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 12:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elceri/pseuds/elceri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calamy tries to get past the grief he feels over Blakeney's injury and struggles with other emotions he is barely aware of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past Grief

**Author's Note:**

> First written in February 2004 under a different pseudonym that I can no longer use. The work is mine, and if there are questions, please contact me.

_"What's gone and what's past help should be past grief." - from A Winter's Tale, by William Shakespeare_

Calamy's boot steps echoed above the creaks and groans of the ship and the sound of the sea, loud to his ears despite his attempts to walk quietly and with dignity. As he had been relieved from his watch, he had happened upon Dr. Maturin, who had mentioned that he had released Blakeney from his care to take another day's rest in his own cabin before resuming his duties. It was all Calamy could do to keep from dashing below deck. While most of the sailors were still topside, leaving the crew quarters fairly empty, to have those above hear him all but running to his destination would be an indignity he did not welcome. His steps quickened despite himself as he neared the cabin the Midshipmen shared and saw a dim light shining through the doorway. 

Calamy found himself at a loss for words as he hesitated outside the cabin door. He peered in almost shyly, and found Blakeney sitting up in his cot, reading, his mouth slowly moving with the words. He wore no shirt, and the candlelight reflected golden on his skin and the bandage binding what was left of his right arm. Whether by trick of the lighting or fact, it seemed to Calamy's eyes that Blakeney did indeed look far haler than before, and this heartened him and gave him a voice. "Welcome home," he said with a smile as he finally entered the cabin.

Blakeney's eyes immediately darted up from the book in his lap, and he smiled with delight. "Peter! How splendid that you should be first to greet me here." He marked his place and closed the book.

"How are you feeling?" Calamy drew a chair from the corner of the room to the side of Blakeney's cot and removed his hat as he sat down.

"About like myself again," Blakeney replied. "I've missed your company."

"I've missed yours as well." Calamy's stomach felt unsettled, and for the life of him, he could not figure out what disconcerted him so. He searched for words to put to the feeling deep in his stomach, and finally found something suitable. "How are you managing? With," he trailed off as he motioned to Blakeney's right arm. There was the crux of the matter. It haunted his dreams, and sometimes even his waking vision as he stared out over dark seas at night: in the sparkling stars, the vision of his friend's glazed yet panicked countenance; in the creaking of the timbers, the sounds of bone cracking; and in the rippling of the sails, the sound of blade slicing flesh and muscle. Most surreal and haunting had been the sight of the limb separated from the body, then wrapped and solemnly carried up to deck to be thrown overboard like a miniature corpse. Calamy had seen many men without limbs in his years at sea, but before that day he had never witnessed how they became that way.

Despite spending all of his free time—and his study time, as Captain Aubrey was lenient enough to allow—at Blakeney's bedside the following day, Calamy had not been there when Blakeney had first awoken after the amputation. That fact bothered him, for he imagined that it must be frightening to wake up missing a limb, and he desperately had wanted to be there, to see that Blakeney was well, and to comfort him should he need it. However, he had not been given that luxury, although Captain Aubrey himself had been kind enough to come onto the deck and inform him that Blakeney had come to, was in relatively good spirits, and had even asked about him. It had taken all of his willpower to retain his composure and merely answer, "Thank you, sir."

* * *

"Did you know, Peter, that if a salamander loses a limb, or its tail, that it'll grow one back?" Blakeney's voice cut through Calamy's thoughts, startling him.

"I didn't know that," he murmured, fidgeting with a stray thread dangling from the cot. "How unfortunate that a salamander can do such a thing, yet men cannot." Calamy looked up at his friend, searching his countenance for even a hint of the bitterness that he felt, but found none.

"I wonder if a salamander would give it up to be able to walk on two feet, to talk, dream, to love—" Blakeney's voice trailed off on the thought, and he studied Calamy's face until Calamy felt his cheeks flush. It seemed as though he were searching for something, but was unsure. He cleared his throat suddenly, and made a gesture with what was left of his right arm. "It's strange. Sometimes I forget it's not there. I can almost still feel it, and I'll reach to take hold of something, or turn the page of my book, and it gives me a start."

"And?" Calamy raised his eyebrow, waiting for more, but Blakeney simply shrugged.

"And nothing. It's the truth."

"I didn't believe it to be anything but," Calamy muttered, feeling almost disappointed and definitely foolish. What a child he was, fretting so over someone else's misfortune!

"It bothers you, doesn't it?" Blakeney looked back down at the book in his lap for a moment, as though to spare Calamy his scrutiny after such a delicate question.

Calamy was not sure how to answer. The simple truth was that it did indeed bother him—a great deal—but he was ashamed of that fact. "I was there," he finally replied, wholly avoiding the true question

"I know you were, Peter. Captain Aubrey and Doctor Maturin, as well as yourself, have said so, and I believed you the first time." Blakeney wrinkled his nose, as though a new thought had suddenly occurred to him. "Did I cry out a great deal? Cause a scene?"

"No! You barely made a sound, Will. Everyone who attended admired your courage," Calamy's voice caught in the back of his throat, "myself especially."

"I barely remember it," Blakeney spoke with a distant ring to his voice. "It almost seems a dream; as though it didn't really happen." He reached out and took Calamy's hand with his one remaining and squeezed it, then looked straight into his eyes. "Does that give you any comfort?"

Calamy's heart leapt into his throat, and he nearly trembled, for when Blakeney looked at him it often felt as though he was piercing flesh and bone and gazing into his very soul. It seemed that only Blakeney could know his heart and mind so well, and the notion was both frightening and exhilarating. "Dr. Maturin gave you laudanum. That's what it does," Calamy stammered, his voice laden with emotion. He quickly added, "I should be glad to not remember such a painful and traumatic thing."

"I don't know," Blakeney replied, and a smile began to spread across his lips. "It would make a wonderful story to put in my memoirs if I had remembered it." He motioned to the book resting in his lap, concerning the life and times of Lord Nelson. "I intend to call them 'The Collected Memoirs of William, Lord Blakeney,' and of course you will be mentioned many times."

"I'm honored!" Calamy smiled broadly despite himself, as his friend's demeanor was most contagious. "Besides, even if you don't remember what happened, you can always make it up. Who would contradict your word?"

Blakeney laughed. "How true! Although since you were there, perhaps I should have you help me to ensure I get the details perfectly correct, and what you don't remember I can supply."

Calamy's face fell, and his stomach clenched at the thought of recounting that harrowing experience, but he nodded. "Again, it would be an honor."

"Peter," Blakeney's voice became soft, and he squeezed Calamy's hand, which had become damp with sweat. "You do know that I am the same person, with or without my arm, don't you?"

"I do, Will." Calamy sighed and released Blakeney's hand for a moment to dry his own with his handkerchief. He wrung the cloth in both hands and sighed again. "But—"

"But you don't." Blakeney interrupted him. His smile had faded, and Blakeney's lips twisted in consternation. "I don't feel a cripple, Peter. As queer as it may sound, I feel no different in my heart of hearts than I did before. It was God's plan for this to befall me, and it was his Angel that guided Doctor Maturin's hand, and that same Angel that has watched over me in my healing." He reached out and cupped Calamy's face, and it felt cool and damp against his flushed cheek. "His Angel sent you to me as well, Peter."

Calamy startled at this. He of course knew that the Lord worked through all good Christian men, but he had never been so plainly confronted with it. "You truly believe that?" He tried to think of what he could have possibly done that would merit such a declaration. He had only done what any true friend would do: he had stayed at Blakeney's side as often as possible to keep him company, took his meals with him in the sick berth, brought him news and stories and helped with his studies, assisted the doctor in changing the dressings on his wound, snuck half of his desserts from dinners with the Captain out to bring to him, and he had even fallen asleep on more than one occasion at the side of Blakeney's cot. Still, Calamy felt it was no more than, for instance, Captain Aubrey would have done for Doctor Maturin.

"I know it," Blakeney's thumb caressed Calamy's cheek in such a way that a shiver crawled down his spine. Calamy gazed at his friend in awe and wondered if coming so close to death and suffering such a life-changing experience had somehow given Blakeney an insight, wisdom, and maturity even beyond that which Calamy had so admired in him before he had been injured. Calamy placed a trembling hand over Blakeney's, still upon his cheek, almost as though to prevent him from leaving. He felt as though the entire experience had unsettled him more so than anything else he had witnessed in his few years at sea, and as he struggled to right himself and carry on as was necessary, Blakeney was only anchor he could cling to.

"Will." The word came out as a strangled whisper, as the emotions Calamy had held in since the day Blakeney had lost his arm began to spill forth like poison from a lanced boil: worry that he might yet lose his closest and dearest friend, and anger that something so terrible had to happen to one so wholly undeserving: so young, so bright, so kind, so noble, so beautiful…

Worst of all was the resentment Calamy carried toward himself because he had allowed all of these feelings fester and eat at him with self-pity and helplessness, while Blakeney serenely accepted his lot and moved on. Every night he prayed to be given peace, to be allowed to move on as well. Now, Calamy suddenly wondered that if he could be an angel, as Blakeney had insisted, then perhaps his dear friend was as well, sent to answer his desperate prayer. As though reading his thoughts, Blakeney gently urged Calamy's head toward him, and with the confidence they were alone and would not be disturbed, Calamy laid his head upon Blakeney's breast and wept, while a lone hand stroked his hair with a gentle and comforting touch.

* * *

Eventually the emotion subsided, and Calamy found himself feeling drained, but also as though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. As he raised his head, Calamy took his handkerchief up once more and gently wiped the wetness of his tears from Blakeney's chest. He then noticed with surprise that Blakeney's cheeks were wet as well.

"Please don't weep out of pity for me," Calamy said as he handed his handkerchief to Blakeney to clean his face.

"No, I weep because I've caused you such pain," Blakeney said as he dried his cheeks. "But they're not tears of sadness. They're tears of joy."

"I don't understand."

"Because I have such a loyal friend, one who stands at my side in the hour of my direst need and not only when duty is easy or pleasant, and also a friend who would now bare his heart to me," Blakeney smiled and took Calamy's hand once more, "It makes me weep to consider my fortune."

Calamy was unable to speak for several moments, so overwhelmed was he by Blakeney's earnest and moving words. Finally, he clasped Blakeney's hand in both of his and whispered, "The thought of losing you was unbearable. You're very special to me, Will."

Blakeney's smile became broader, and he whispered, "As you are to me." He licked his lips and looked down for just a moment, almost uncharacteristically timid, then looked back up with a glimmer in his eyes. He tugged at Calamy's hands to urge him closer, and Calamy rose from his chair and leaned over the cot, his heart racing and head feeling slightly dizzy. He told himself that Blakeney likely wanted to tell him a secret, but in his heart Calamy knew what Blakeney intended to do, as it was something he himself had yearned for long before he could even put a name to it.

Their lips met hesitantly at first, and they lingered together lightly for several moments. Calamy then raised a trembling hand to gently cup Blakeney's face, and Blakeney mirrored the motion as the kiss became more intense. All else seemed to fade away, the sounds of the waves and the ship, the voices and boot steps above, the grief and confusion he had felt before, all replaced simply by a warmth in Calamy's heart that glowed like a candle that could not be put out. Blakeney parted his lips with a soft gasp of wonder, and Calamy slightly drew back for just a moment before parting his lips as well and pressing his mouth fervently to Blakeney's again.

Blakeney's moan vibrated through Calamy's mouth, and Calamy felt his fingers slip back and tangle through his hair. Calamy wrapped his other arm around Blakeney's back to support him, as their tongues tentatively touched, pushing against each other and curiously seeking to explore the other's mouth. Calamy fought down an intense and startling urge to lay himself down on top of Blakeney and grind his mouth against his, and—

Calamy broke the kiss, both breathless and all but frightened of the sudden, licentious ideas his imagination had called forth. He could still feel Blakeney's breath against his face, and his arms trembled as his heart's desire battled with his common sense. Blakeney's eyes shone in the candlelight, his lips were slightly swollen and glistening, and his cheeks looked as they had when he had been feverish. Calamy fancied that he likely looked the same, for he felt hot, and there was an almost nauseating tightness in his stomach that intensified down into his very loins. He could not resist the urge to kiss Blakeney's lips once more, and then again, compelled by a need unlike any he had ever felt before.

Desperate to regain some control over himself, Calamy tried finally to pull away, but Blakeney's hand was still firmly tangled in his hair and he refused to let go. He pulled Calamy's face close to his again, this time until their foreheads touched, and their mouths and noses brushed together in a nuzzle. The touch was light, yet its intensity almost caused Calamy's knees to buckle.

"Peter," Blakeney whispered, and Calamy could feel his name on his lips just as well as he heard it. Slowly, he opened his eyes and gazed into Blakeney's. They remained this way in silence for several long moments, with Blakeney's fingertips lightly massaging Calamy's scalp, and Calamy's fingertips gently circling on the sweat-slick skin of Blakeney's lower back. Blakeney finally whispered, "Do we understand one another now?"

Calamy merely nodded, his forehead rubbing against Blakeney's. He was unable to find adequate words to explain the understanding; he only knew in his heart that it was there and that it had overwhelmed all of the emotions he had been wrestling with before in its intensity. He reluctantly drew back and licked his lips, and he swore he could taste Blakeney on them—although the exact taste was difficult to describe and unlike anything he had tasted before—and it made the warmth inside him burn even hotter.

"You should make your bed now, before Doctor Maturin or Captain Aubrey comes down and sees that we're still awake," Blakeney said quietly. He licked his lips several times as well, and fidgeted on his cot. Calamy realized that Blakeney was just as frightened as he was, and that thought comforted him. He stiffly stood up, becoming more aware of his body and the rather uncomfortable and disconcerting bulge in his trousers. It usually only manifested itself in the mornings and quickly went away, and Calamy hoped it would do the same now, or he would never get to sleep. As he hung up his vest and jacket, he caught Blakeney staring at it out of the corner of his eye, and that only made it ache worse. When he turned around, Blakeney quickly looked away and busied himself with getting comfortable.

Calamy readied himself for bed, extinguished the candles, and crawled into his cot, grateful for the nominal shelter of dark and blanket. He sighed deeply as the sounds of the ship fully returned to his awareness, although Blakeney was also there, and Calamy was keenly aware of the sound of his breathing and the hints of his unique scent on the air when he would move. Calamy's lips still tingled, and that warmth still burned within him, too strong to ignore—rather like the aching in his loins.

Blakeney's voice came through the darkness once more, knowing that he was still awake whether by his breathing or through his uncanny sense. "Peter," he whispered, "no more worries about what has been or what might have been, right?" His hand then found Calamy's and gave it a squeeze. "Think about what is."

The touch did nothing to relax him, and instead it kept his arousal on edge, but Calamy had already resigned himself to little sleep that night. Blakeney's smile shone like a beacon in the moonlit cabin, and it remained in Calamy's mind and heart long after he closed his eyes. He felt light and warm, free of burden and exhilarated with the joy of discovery and adoration. He drew Blakeney's hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to the palm, adding, "And what could be."


End file.
